“I expect you are right, Tar-Baby,” replied Mr. Rabbit.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go to sleep over the story of the little boy and the lantern. But it didn’t have any moral,” said Mr. Thimblefinger.
“Why, I reckon that’s the reason I didn’t do any nodding,” explained Mr. Rabbit. “I knew there was something the matter.”
There was a pause, during which Mr. Rabbit betrayed a tendency to fall to nodding again. Presently Mrs. Meadows remarked:—
“I mind me of a story that I heard once—I reckon the talk about kings and queens made me remember it. Anyway, it popped into my head all of a sudden, though I hadn’t thought about it in years.”
“Fire away!” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, opening his eyes and slowly closing them again.
“Once upon a time there lived in the land of Moraria a man who was very poor. He worked whenever and wherever he could find work, yet he had so many children that even if he had found work every day he could have made hardly enough for all to eat and wear. As it was, times were so hard and work was so scarce that he frequently had to go hungry and half clothed. His wife did the best she could, which was very little. She worked about the palace where the king had lived, but as she was only one among a hundred, she got small wages, and had few opportunities to carry any scraps of victuals to her children.
“Finally the man came to the conclusion that he must make a desperate effort to better his condition, so he said to his wife:—
“‘What are my five senses for? I see other people living by their wits, and dressing fine and enjoying the best in the land. Why shouldn’t I do the same? What is to prevent me but my stupidity?’
“‘Stupidity is a high fence to climb over,’ replied the man’s wife. ‘But if you are willing to try how far your wits will carry you, you will have a good opportunity in a few days. The king’s daughter, the Princess Myla, is to be married next week, and even now the guests are assembling at the palace—most of them belonging to the bridegroom’s retinue.’